


An 'Inquisitive' Mind

by Thinly_veiled_subtext_wut



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dragon Piss, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:21:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thinly_veiled_subtext_wut/pseuds/Thinly_veiled_subtext_wut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles about my Female Inquisitor in no particular order. Spoilers abound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's hard to talk to Cassandra the first few weeks at Haven. It's easy to find distractions in the thousand things they have to do, but its tense every time Dawn is summoned to the war table. Not because she hasn't accepted the warrior's apology, or that she's afraid of the seeker. Its just that the half-elf can't look at Cassandra and not wish she was as strong as her. 

Varric is the easiest to converse with, if only because the tales of 'The Champion' remind her of people she has never known, that and the witty retorts they throw at each other like blunt swords to help deflect the rest of the world and the burden that has been placed on her shoulders. Secretly she begs to borrow his novels from Cassandra and they finally have something to bond over.

Iron Bull is oddly enough, good for her. He doesn't remark on the fact that she jumps after loud noises. He forces her to socialize and lighten up until its too much, then he passes her a beer and narrates the goings on at the bar. Usually this involves a sordid and rather eloquent reason for Sera leering at the serving woman.

Solas is an enigma wrapped in pajamas. As many answers as she gets, there's always a new question. About the fade, about her mark, about how if they fuck this is up what their chances of getting away actually are. They stay up for hours talking philosophy, once he remarks, albet a bit deep into his cups. That its a shame shes not an elf. Dawn tries to forget it, but it sticks somewhere in her soul and burns. Not because she had feelings for him, but because she knows nothing of her father's people.

Sera is loud and brash and everything Dawn has had to avoid being. The few times she lets herself truly give free reign to anything its been prodded by Red Jenny. Eventually Dawn picks up steam, but its still nice to get dragged into a prank at 4 am with the crisp air and Vivienne chasing them down the tower and out into grounds with a laugh that makes her feel 17 again.

Dorian is the greatest thing in the world. At first she thinks his attitude about his home is ridiculous, and his attitude even more so, but then she remembers confidence and sarcasm are two of the bests sets of armor for keeping yourself safe. So after a resounding fight sometimes Dawn will just start clapping until he's laughing and Solas is looking at them like they've lost their minds. When in reality they both need the moment because they've lost so much more. 

Blackwall. He's steady, blunt, he's also one of the only ones she confides her lack of fighting skills in. He's stiffer than a training dummy, and something is always off about him. Despite this she can see the determination in his face and its for this reason she trusts him to have her back when it counts.

Cole. She talked to Rhys, at the conclave, they'd been dicussing the possibility of benevolent spirits when she heard a noise. The former tower mage had smiled when she'd challengingly said 'Well how do you know they can be?' she never thought to meet him. She never thought she'd be helping him erect a little stone for his lost friend. They don't talk much for the most part. Sometimes she's on the verge of tears in the corner of a tavern and he just sits down. He knows her hurt is beyond words, but his presence makes her feel better, less alone, and in return she remembers him even when shes been gone for a week.

Vivenne makes her, nervous, at first. The older woman is the first to realize she hides the slightly elongated ears beneath that thick braid. She's also the first to encourage her to tie her hair back and show them off, much to Dawn's surprise. It's of course hidden subtly in the context of 'freshening her hair up' before a meeting with a delegate, but the Inquisitor nearly cries when her hair looks quite stunning atop her head. Walking into the small party all eyes are on her only until Vivienne's glare sweeps them over and Dawn keeps her head held high. In return she doesn't gripe too much when her old clothes keep going missing and replaced with more 'fashionable' choices


	2. Hello Pentaghast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written pre-actually playing the game but I can't bear to delete it. So you have to bear with it. Sorry.

Dawn couldn’t tell if it everything was still dark, or if the blast of light had simply rendered her blind. Her breath was coming in short panicked burst and for the second time in her life the young woman found no shame in cowering in terror. The screams that had filled the air may have been over but their echos chased her into near hyperventilation.  
Her head was starting to hurt as well and she winced as she opened her eyes, apparently she’d just lacked the common sense to open them until now. Of course the minute things started to come into focus the mage immediately wished she’d kept them closed. Dawn parted her lips to scream but all that came out was a broken whimper of a sob as she scurried away from a smoking pile of, well she wasn’t sure but the skull suggested things her stomach disliked immensely.  


When her back hit a surface teal eyes flitted around a ruined courtyard, pulling her head between her knees Dawn tried to remember what it meant to be alive and not afraid, but as an apostate the latter was trained into her very being. Ever so slowly, as the hissing of fires of remains of her brethren started to die out the ache in her lungs eased.  


Shaking Dawn stood up, using the wall as support, “Looks like we’re alone again Sticky.” She spoke to the staff that lay a few feet away. Stumbling she approached it and picked it up. Only to collapse back against the wall. Her palm felt warm, and the familiar feeling of magic and dreams crept at the edge of her vision.  
Confusion made her look at her hand, fear made her aware of the sounds of not so distant foot falls, panic had her running.  


Looking over her shoulder Dawn tried to remember spells to muffle her footfalls, how to summon a spirit to distract the soldiers, anything at all to help her escape. But the blast had rendered her so stunned by its horrific power not so much as a novice’s light spell flitted past through her brain. She felt so deaf and numb that when she turned a corner and came face to face with a woman of considerable armature there was no chance to react.  


Dawn was simply thrown against a wall with a sword to her throat before she could speak. Freezing instantly she met the eyes of her assailant.  


“Who are you?” the woman asked, and for a moment Dawn considered giving no answer and simply begging for death.  


“D-Dawn Ostwick.” Any other time she would curse herself for the stammer, but the steely eyes of what could only be a commander in front of her warrant a certain caution. Of course even without the added benefit of being an apostate Dawn’s sure the woman’s reaction would be the same.  


“Seeker, I’m not sure scaring her is the best way to get answers. She looks like death warmed over.” Dawn cannot see the speaker, but the voice is silky and gruff at the same time. There’s an underlying tension to the voice, like he doesn’t want to be here longer than necessary. Dawn shares the sentiment, but she doubts voicing this will help.  


Dawn’s eyes shift from ‘Seeker’ and drift to the insignia on the woman’s armor. An eye, with the rays of a sunburst. This time Dawn swears in elven, something picked up from the occasional fellow apostates she’s encountered. The sword it pressed tighter against her throat.  


“How did you survive the blast?” Cassandra hisses, her accent odd to Dawn’s ears.  


“I don’t know.” The honest desperation in the mages voice gives Cassandra momentary pause, and by momentary its meant none.  


“You are the only survivor of a blast that killed thousands and you say you have no idea how you made it out?” Her eyes narrow and for a moment Dawn fears that Cassandra will slit her throat right there and be done with it. “At this moment you are the only threat I see. Therefore you’re coming with us.” And then Dawn promptly collapsed


	3. Bleeding But Not Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I love beating up my favorite characters. This includes the main character.

“You were a mistake.” 

Gasping next to the trebuche and in a puddle of her own blood the words ring in Dawn's elven looking ears. The only thing she really got from her father, as far as her looks went anyway. She sees Cassandra and Sera and Bull running and a broken laugh bounces past her lips as the words echo like little knives in her head.

“There was really never any debate on that one. Try harder to insult me and I'll try harder to care.” she spits, but all that dribbled past her lips is red. Thoughts of her human mother and elf father circle her head. If being born with magic wasn't proof she was a mistake then being a 'happy accident' certainly was. Forcing herself to stand up and face 'The Elder One' Dawn narrowed her eyes.

“I may be a mistake, but so are you, and I can't wait till we cancel each other out.” The words are the closest thing to a war cry she can manage. All traces of her companions are gone, the Chantry doors are closed and for the first time since the Conclave literally exploded in her face Dawn smiles. 

Hitting the lever on the Trebuche should have been harder. Corypheus has no time to react as she buries his army in one fell swoop. Her victory is short lived when something thick and solid sends her flying. Her head is muddled and someone is shouting, probably the Elder One, until a new roar fills her senses and the ground gives out beneath her.

Dawn wasn't sure how long she blacked out, just that there was a length of time in her memory that was simply gone between falling and hitting the ground. Based on the wheezing of her breathes the mage is certain she doesn't want to remember that part as she hefts herself off of the cold stones. 

One of her eyes must be swollen, cause the world is mainly on her right and tinted red. Stumbling toward the wall a serviceable staff sticks out amid the rubble and Dawn pretends there wasn't a cold hand attached to it. 

She stumbles through the storms, and the dark, with only a vague recollection of just where exactly they could have gone. Dawn refuses to stop, she knows if she stops she's dead. She knows if she's dead she can't debate about the fade with Solas, or make snide remarks about nobles with Sera, or get yelled at for wanting to wear something a bit out of style by Vivienne. Or tell Dorian she gives in and would he please teach her how to play that stupid chess game. Or beg Varric to tell another story about Hawke because he sounds like the sort of goofball her cousin would have grown up to be. The list continues in her head to keep her going and a sob is caught in her throat as Dawn realizes with astounding clarity doesn't want to die. 

There's a shout somewhere ahead, relief floods her system so strongly she can barely hold onto consciousness long enough to ascertain that its Cullen and his stupid jacket that greet her in the snow and wind. More voices ring out but his arms are warm and Dawn finally feels safe enough to let sleep take her.


End file.
